


What Dean Wanted

by Teaclase



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel is already dead, Dean Winchester Angst, M/M, This takes place during 13x01, castiel jack and Sam are only mentioned, the story/Drabble is more Dean centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:04:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaclase/pseuds/Teaclase
Summary: He yearned to hear another moment of Cas’ gravelly voice, another moment of heartfelt staring, another glance or another brush of hands or another joke or misunderstanding of reference. Dean wanted to look into those pools of cerulean eyes, those eyes that had so much swirling underneath that expanse of blue. There was loathing and affection and concern and love. He wanted to wrap his arms around Cas one more time, bury his head in Cas’ neck the way that only they did it. To exchange another stare or smile or laugh.Dean wanted to brush his against Cas’, interlace his fingers with his. He wanted another moment. He wanted- he wanted-Dean wanted to say that he loved him.(Dean ponders about Cas’ death.)





	What Dean Wanted

_“Sam and everyone you know, everyone you love, they could be long dead. Everyone except me.”_

 

Dean repeated Cas’ words in his head. Ten, twenty, Hell, fifty maybe, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. Sam was outside, probably talking to Jack about who knows what. Sam was doing something useful. He was using his time to teach and educate instead of sit and sob and mope around.

 

Dean brushed his hand along the curves of the table.

 

  
_Everyone except me._

 

  
That was what Cas had said. Although it was a statement, the phrase came out like a promise. That he would withstand everything that life threw at him-that no challenge or wall could end his journey-that he’d always be there. With Dean. No matter what.

 

And now he was dead.

 

Dean sat next to Cas’ wrapped body with a melancholy air. His hands laced in front of his face. Eyes cast downwards.

 

His fault. This was his fault.

 

Dean glanced at Cas’ face. Or where his face was supposed to be. The deep blue eyes and crinkles, dark brown hair and chapped lips were covered by cloth.

 

Dean figured that was for the best. Glancing back at Cas would shatter him.

 

But that was nothing to the feeling that Cas’ death had instilled in his deepest parts. It was a numbness, a pessimistic lens on the world that made him see the worst in situations in people-in himself.

 

He yearned to hear another moment of Cas’ gravelly voice, another moment of heartfelt staring, another glance or another brush of hands or another joke or misunderstanding of reference.

Dean wanted to look into those pools of cerulean eyes, those eyes that had so much swirling underneath that expanse of blue. There was loathing and affection and concern and love. He wanted to wrap his arms around Cas one more time, bury his head in Cas’ neck the way that only they did it. To exchange another stare or smile or laugh.

 

Dean wanted to brush his against Cas’, interlace his fingers with his. He wanted another moment. He wanted- he wanted-

 

Dean wanted to say that he loved him.

 

-

 

Dean built the whole pyre himself.

 

He gathered the wood. Arranged it. He lifted Cas’ body and placed it with gentle hands on the top of the pile. He poured the gasoline and lit the match and flicked it away with the wish that it would burn him away, too.

 

Sam and Jack watched with solemn eyes.

 

Dean’s portrayed nothing but a dull ache.

 

A dull ache that always appeared whenever Cas was reduced to nothing but an expendable foot soldier, a pile of gore on the ground or a limp body on a pyre.

 

A dull ache that, for so long, he’d wanted to end.

 

It usually did. Cas came back. Dean’s face would light up again. Cas would go, and the cycle would repeat.

 

But he’d just sealed Cas’ fate.

 

There was no rebound.

 

He wasn’t coming back.

 

Despite all of the resurrections and promises and redemptions, there was no coming back from this.

 

Whether that was for Castiel or Dean, he didn’t know.

 

Because Dean had just watched the man he loved die.

 

Maybe he wanted to follow.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! I actually wrote this in between chapters for ‘Dear Dean,’ a fic I am (at the time this is published) currently working on. Go check it out! (Shameless plug. Yes, I know.)


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